


Greatly ****ing Exaggerated

by Trojie



Category: RocknRolla (2008)
Genre: Gen, News Media, Rock Stars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 13:19:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By the time the whole thing went down with Lenny and the Russians and the Wild Bunch, Johnny'd already been 'dead' twice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Greatly ****ing Exaggerated

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roberval](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roberval/gifts).



> Title from "Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated," attributed to Mark Twain.

_One_

The phone is ringing. Mickey blinks at the first paragraph of the article on page four of the newspaper he's just flicked open, and stares.

ROCK STAR MISSING - DRUGS, FOUL PLAY SUSPECTED

June answers the phone. Mickey keeps reading, praying. 

_Troubled rockstar, Johnny Quid, is missing, presumed dead -_

Fucking hell.

'Alright, Rory sweetheart, alright. Calm down and tell me what 'appened,' says June down the phone, trying to attract Roman's attention and write down what the Quidlickers' drama queen bass player is saying at the same time. _It's Johnny_ , she mouths when Roman finally looks her way. 

'Johnny? Oh crap, what's he done this time?' Roman asks. He definitely hasn't read the newspaper yet. 'No, don't tell me, just find out which police station I have to go pick him up from.'

Mickey finds time to roll his eyes at Roman. Roman flips him the bird. June rolls her eyes at _both_ of them and says in her patented Dealing-With-The-Talent voice, 'Well, when did you see him last, love?' She's good at talking to the talent, Mickey thinks. Which means she's good at dealing with crazy egomaniacs who're mostly drunk or stoned off their asses. Mickey has no goddamn illusions about the people he manages. 

Rory is about the only member of the Quidlickers who can be trusted to check in semi-regularly, and he's usually paranoid as fuck in a haze of expensive smoke, and 'checking in' normally means calling up to bitch about the fact that Johnny never turned up to this meeting or that band practice or any meals for the past week, but at least he does check in. And Johnny does, at least, manage to turn up to their shows, so no-one's losing their paycheck over him. 

Turning up to the shows is about the only thing Johnny _can_ be trusted to do any more. He turns up stoned, turns up with black eyes, turns up with girls hanging off him - sometimes, fairly often, he turns up clutching a sheaf of new lyrics scrawled on bar napkins. Once, Roman was convinced they were written in blood, but Mickey's pretty sure it was tomato sauce. 

_Pretty_ sure. That's what he made June tell Rory, anyway. 

(She looked Mickey dead in the eye and told him straight up that she loves Johnny but he's a crazy fuck and writing song lyrics in his own blood would be pretty much the sanest blood-related thing he'd done all year. But because she's good with the talent she did that after she'd put the phone down.)

You can't trust Johnny as far as you could throw him. But the thing about Johnny is, he always turns up. Mickey wants to cling to that, but there's something about the obituary in front of him that makes him think, maybe today's the day.

'Alright, well, Pete can cover the singin' for now, right? Johnny's missed technicals before, love, it'll be okay. We'll find 'im. Alright. Alright. Yes, I'll tell 'im. Alright. You're a star, Rory, darlin'. Okay. Alright. Bye. Bye -'

June puts the phone down and cradles her sharp chin in her hand, tapping her pen against the desk. 'Johnny's done a runner again,' she says. 'Proper this time - none'a the boys've seen 'im since Saturday. They got a gig in 'Ammersmith tonight and 'e's missed the technical rehearsal.'

'He's not at his apartment?' Roman asks. 

'Rory says no.' June shrugs, chewing on her pen. 'Reckon he's probably up the Speeler with his old mates. You want me to run down an' see if I can turn him up?'

Mickey folds the newspaper up to display the article that's currently making him wish he'd taken his momma's advice and stayed in school instead of taking the crazy-ass option and riding herd on rock stars for a living. 'Something tells me he's not gonna be there,' he says. 'I think we might have to cancel that show.'

June looks at the paper, then looks up at Mickey, and shakes her head. 'Nah, he ain't dead. Not Johnny.'

Mickey blinks, because that isn't the reaction he was kinda expecting. But then, June's weird about Johnny. They grew up pretty much next door to each other, and she treats him like her stupid kid brother. In fact, she's the one who dragged him through the door and made him show Roman and Mickey what he could do with a microphone in his hand, when they were flat broke with no-one worth a dime on their books, and considering selling up. 

Johnny Quid made their name as agents, it's true. Mickey can admit it. They owe the skinny little motherfucker. And so they owe June, for bringing him in. 

She probably just needs time to adjust to the loss.

'Look, take the rest of the day off, June,' Mickey says. 'We know you and Johnny were -'

'Johnny's a scummy little twerp,' says June, harsh and fond and shaking her head like Mickey's an idiot, her hands on her hips. 'Gimme a couple of hours, lads. I'll find 'im.' 

And she does - pulls him through the door by one bony wrist before close of business, two hours before the show in Hammersmith is supposed to open. Roman calls the papers to put through a correction and register a complaint about their crying wolf (and potentially hurting ticket sales), and Mickey resists the urge to strangle Johnny. 

'Get him cleaned up, for God's sake,' he says to June. 'He's got a show to play.'

'Right you are,' says June. 'Come on, love,' she says to Johnny, who's pretty much the definition of dazed and confused right now, blinking in the fluorescent office lights. 'Let's get you sorted, yeah?'

'Thank fuck,' says Roman after they've left, hanging the phone up. 'I think we owe her a raise.'

***

_Two_

The police call up saying that they've got a body in the morgue that doesn't have any ID but looks a lot like that Johnny Quid guy who was on telly the other day, and seeing as Roman and Mickey are his agents, do they know anyone who could come down and identify the body.

Mickey doesn't get most of that detail 'til afterwards. What he gets is June, cradling the phone between her ear and her shoulder, writing a post-it note that says 'PIGS THINK JOHN'S DEAD', and handing it to him. 

Roman takes the note - Mickey takes the goddamn phone, and that's when he gets the details. June waits until Mickey's said he'll go down to the station, and while Roman's demanding the details, she puts her coat on. 

'What?' she says, doing up the toggles. 'I ain't gonna sit 'ere and mind the phones, if that's what you're thinkin'. We're not a corner shop, Mickey, you don't need someone 'ere to flog papers and make sure the kids ain't nicking the merchandise.'

'What if it's Johnny?' Mickey asks. 'You don't wanna see -'

'It's not Johnny,' she says, like she knows. 'Day Johnny dies, it won't be behind a skip with a bottle'a cheap piss, you take it from me.'

'Shit, I hope she's right,' says Roman, following her out the door. 'We gotta get this boy insured.'

The dude in the morgue isn't Johnny. 

The real Johnny shows up three days later, just in time to stumble on stage, pretty much buck-ass nude except for a tutu. The band gets a rave review. 

(Roman and Mickey give June a Christmas bonus.) 

***

_Three_

'June. How dead is Johnny?'

June gives Mickey a Look. 'If 'e's dead, it's the third time this year.'


End file.
